


it's not the waking, it's the rising

by thatsouthernanthem



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathtub Sex, Because I Am A Trash Can, Begging, Body Worship, Deepthroating, F/F, F/M, I did kinks for my 100 followers, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pegging, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Scar Worship, Sex, Sex Toys, Spanking, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-11-27 13:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18195188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsouthernanthem/pseuds/thatsouthernanthem
Summary: I did kink prompts for my 100 followers celebration and uh...these are the results. So. Yep. Enjoy the smut :)These are unedited and may contain some errors :(





	1. roxana/kassandra

**Author's Note:**

> first up we have roxana/kassandra featuring dirty talk and aphrodisiacs!

“So, I got something,” Roxana is smirking as she leans against the wooden railing of the upper deck on the Adrestia. “And since we are here, on this ship, all by ourselves…I was thinking we could use it.”

Kassandra’s mind runs, tripping over itself as she tries to figure out what Roxana is talking about (slightly worried it was an  _olisbos_ ; she still wasn’t fully recovered from that time with Alkibiades), but the other woman laughs at her expression and reaches over to smooth the furrow at her brow.

“Stop, stop, you look like you’re going to burst,” Roxana’s smirk turns into a full grin as she opens her pouch and pulls out a set of delicate looking orchids. “They’re called  _satirio_ …they are meant to invoke a certain mood, when eaten.”

She presses one of the purple flowers against Kassandra’s lips, watching her intently. Carefully, she opens her mouth and accepts the flower, chewing the petals. They’re sweet, and flowery of course, but not unpleasant at all. At her nod, Roxana does the same, leaning forward to kiss Kassandra as soon as she’s swallowed.

“Here?” Kassandra murmurs against her lips, hefting the other woman up in her arms, relishing the feel of her warm body against hers.

“Well,” she whispers, drawing her lips to Kassandra’s ear, scraping her teeth against the shell. “Below deck, preferably. I set up a little bedroll for us.”

“Sneaky,” she murmurs back, tilting her head to allow better access. For a long moment, Roxana stays pressed in Kassandra’s arms, licking and sucking at the spot just below Kassandra’s ear, where the earthy scent of her is strong. A sharp sting of suction spurs Kassandra to put her down, grab her hand and head below.

Laughing, Roxana tugs her between the rower’s benches, and Kassandra sees the soft bedroll tucked at the front, where there is the most space. Whirling around to face her, Roxana starts working on Kassandra’s armor, undoing the straps and buckles, the belt and  _pteruges_ , letting them fall to the ground and leaving her in her simple  _chiton_. “Get on the bed, Kassandra.”

Her voice is a command, but it’s shaky with need. Still, Kassandra is willing to follow it, dropping to her knees before the woman, dragging her hands up the dark skin of her legs. Holding Roxana before her, she lifts one of her legs to settle on the bench beside them, spreading her legs for Kassandra to settle between.

She drops kisses along her thigh, sliding up under Roxana’s  _chiton_ , finding her bare underneath. Groaning, Kassandra turns her head, inhaling the scent of her, deeply. “Roxana,” she hisses, her fingers ghosting over her sopping folds. Snapping her eyes up to the other woman’s, she leans forward, “Tell me what you want.”

Roxana’s breath hitches and she bends her knee, dipping her cunt closer to Kassandra’s fleeting fingers. “Eat me out, Kassandra,” she says, bold. “Make me scream your name.”

Pressing up and forward, Kassandra laps her tongue along Roxana’s folds, dipping her fingers inside of her, crooking them, dancing her tongue over the swollen nub of her clit. Roxana’s hands plunge into Kassandra’s hair, holding her against her cunt, riding her face as she licks and nibbles at the delicate folds.

“Gods,” Roxana mutters, above her. “Kassandra you feel so  _good_ , yes, just like that–”

She breaks off in a low moan when Kassandra twists her fingers sharply inside of her, scraping her teeth against her clit. Her thighs tremble around Kassandra’s head and her knees threaten to give out. Withdrawing (and dragging a whine out of Roxana), Kassandra grabs her by the waist and tugs the  _chiton_  off of her on the way down. She presses Roxana down onto the bedroll, leaning in to kiss her deeply, fingers dragging down her side.

Kissing down her throat, Kassandra sucks a mark onto her skin just above her breast, lapping down and around her nipples, pinching, plucking and sucking until the nubs are pebbled and aching, until Roxana is moaning above her, grabbing at her head. “Kassandra,” she growls, her dark eyes darker with lust, “If you don’t start fucking me _right now_ , I will–”

Kassandra cuts her off again, pressing her fingers up and inside of her in a smooth motion. Licking her way down to her hip bone, she sucks another mark into her skin there, moving her hand so her thumb rubs circles around Roxana’s clit. With her other hand, she reaches up and pinches her nipple again, drawing another moan from her lips.

“You are  _so_  wet, Roxana,” Kassandra murmurs against her skin, dragging her fingers in and out of her soaking cunt, faster and faster, then slow again, keeping her next moves a surprise. Roxana rolls her hips against Kassandra’s hand, fucking herself and it’s the most erotic thing Kassandra has seen in a while. “ _Gods_ , look at you,” she whispers, pinching her nipple sharply, drawing a sharp gasp from Roxana. “Fucking yourself on my fingers, soaking wet, just for me.”

She hums and draws back up to kiss the nipple she’d pinched, sucking the nub into her mouth to tease with her teeth. Beneath her, Roxana squirms, gasping and muttering soft curses as Kassandra fucks her. She kisses her way back down, desperate to taste her again, especially now that she’s getting close–she can tell in the way Roxana gasps for air, the way the muscles flutter around Kassandra’s fingers, her spasming fingers against Kassandra’s head, the incoherent curses and murmurs that replaced the confident orders from moments ago.

Still rubbing her thumb against Roxana’s clit, Kassandra replaces her fingers with her tongue, desperately lapping as deeply as she can, letting the taste of her flood her senses. She licks her way to her clit, sucking the nub into her mouth and worrying it with her teeth and with a final, low moan that sounds close to a sob, Roxana breaks.

Quickly licking her way back down, Kassandra lets Roxana ride her orgasm out against her mouth, lapping up every drop of her, relishing the burst of salty tang that comes with her finish, and keeps licking at her afterward, until Roxana pushes her away, overstimulated.

Sitting up, Kassandra wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and sucks the slick off her fingers, watching Roxana the whole time. The other girl grins, tugging her down for a kiss. “Oh,” she whispers against Kassandra’s mouth. “I love the taste of us.”

Rolling them, Roxana presses Kassandra to the bed and smirks down at her, pressing her thigh between Kassandra’s legs and rocking into her, drawing a low noise out of her. Bending her head down to her breast, Roxana winks. “Your turn.”


	2. brasidas/kassandra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brasidas/kassandra - olisbos & pegging

“You seem nervous,” he murmurs, stroking a calloused hand along her cheek, his mouth twitching into a smile when she turns her head into his palm, pressing a kiss into the skin.

She snorts a soft laugh, running her hands along his thighs, the barest drag of her fingernails sending a shudder through his body. “I’m not nervous, you’re the one who should be nerv–”

Brasidas cuts her off, jerking forward to kiss her, flicking his tongue against her lips and sliding against hers when she opens for him. His hand raises to cradle the back of her head, fingers twisting into her hair to hold her against him. Pulling away, just slightly, he whispers against her lips, “You’re not going to hurt me.”

Blinking her eyes open, slowly, languid, she hums an agreement and reaches for the leather  _olisbos_  on the table beside them. Kassandra presses his back to the bed, dragging her mouth along the planes of his body, stopping to lave her tongue along scars and marks–paying close attention to the reddened splotch on his shoulder, expertly sewed back up by Hippokrates, deep and jagged, and if she were to turn him over, there would be a matching mark on the back, where the spear had gone clean through.

His breath hitches when she sucks at the edge of new and old skin, his hand stilling on her waist, just letting her pay tribute to the wound that saved him–better that he lost his shield-arm than his life–and her free hand drags over the fading slash on his thigh, another trophy of a battle that could—should?— have been his last. He shifts under her, fingers twitching at her side, and between them, against her stomach, his cock twitches to life.

Feeling her smile against his lips, she continues her downward trail: a kiss left at his heart, his sternum; tongue slipped across the scar under his ribs; suction at the deep groove near his hip, little actions that send his whole body into overdrive, every part of him coming alive under her touch.

She settles between his legs, propping them up so his feet are planted against the bed, leaving him open to her gaze. His cock twitches against his stomach as he watches her reach for a small pot of oil and dip her fingers in.

Leaning forward, rubbing her forefingers together, she raises her eyebrows, seeking reassurance before she begins. He combs his fingers through her dark, silken hair, dropping his hand to run his fingers over her lips. Pressing a kiss to the tips, she smiles when he nods and drops her head to drag her tongue up the underside of his cock to the tip, taking him into her mouth.

His groan turns into a sharp whine when she presses her oiled fingers against him, pressing inside. Pressing his feet against the bed, his thighs quake as he both chases and shies away from the intrusion. Kassandra hollows her cheeks, sucking his cock deeper into his mouth and it takes every ounce of his strength to not snap his hips up into her. The sensations from her dual ministrations are going to end him–her wet, hot mouth, the curl and stretch of her fingers inside of him–but he cannot think of a better way to go.  

Her free hand grips his cock, holding it straight and still for her to bob up and down on the length, and the sight is a wonder to behold–her eyes heavy-lidded, the golden irises almost completely eclipsed by black; her lips, slick with her spit, opened wide to accommodate his girth; his cock disappearing into the plush warmth of her mouth–and he’s reminded, once again, how lucky, how happy he is that Kassandra chose him.

She pulls off of his cock with a wet  _pop_ , a single line of saliva connecting his length to her lips for a long moment before she licks her lips slowly and removes her fingers from him. Whining at the loss of her, Brasidas shudders when she presses a kiss against his knee and reaches for the  _olisbos_  and oil. He watches, his stomach clenching with want, desire, as she drips oil onto the leather toy.

Pressing her lips against his knee and dragging them down his thigh, she braces one hand against the back of his leg, pressing the  _olisbos_  into him, slowly, letting his body get used to the intrusion, the stretch of it. His fingers tangle in the blanket under him, his cock twitches against his stomach, muscles twitching as he swallows down a choked groan as the toy slides home.

Immediately, Kassandra takes him back into her mouth, her free hand coming to rest at his abdomen, and he feels sweat spring up at his hairline, overwhelmed by the sensations again. Subconsciously, his hips roll into her mouth, against the  _olisbos_ , drawing it deeper inside of him until it hits that singular spot that makes him shout.

Kassandra’s hand pauses and she glances up at him, making sure he’s okay and he nods desperately, grounding his feet into the bed, his hand flying to her hair to nudge her back down onto his cock, begging her to continue– _for the love of the gods, keep going_ –and, satisfied that he’s not in pain, she keeps going. Her teeth scrape gently along the head of his cock and his fingers tighten sharply in her hair, drawing a low moan out of her–which, in a feedback loop, pulls a groan from deep in his chest.

She twists the  _olisbos_  inside of him, pressing deeper again and it feels like a shockwave—one that starts deep in the pit of his stomach and radiates outward, a throbbing, pulsating flash of need, desperately dragging him toward completion—flashes over him. He trembles under her hands, his cock swells in her mouth, leaking and swollen as he shifts his hips down to meet the thrust of her hand and the  _olisbos_.

There’s a rumbling noise and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s him, it’s coming from deep in his chest as Kassandra doubles her efforts, her hand moving faster, pushing the  _olisbos_  in and out of him, bobbing her head to take more and more of his length in her mouth. She’s watching him the whole time and he wants to look away, wants to close his eyes but in this moment all he can do is lose himself to the inky pools of her eyes–the iris a thin circle of gold–the quirk of her eyebrow and the pink of her cheeks.

Then she presses the  _olisbos_  in further, a little rougher, and his whole body feels like it’s flying apart, his whole world feels like it’s crumbling. His vision sparks white, dazzling with stars, his legs tense, every muscle pulled taut like the strings of a  _kithara_  and he shouts his release, his hand flying to his mouth to bite down on the fist, trying to stifle the worst of the noise. He sees nothing but the white flashes, he hears nothing but the sound of his blood rushing so hard, so fast through his ears. He doesn’t know how long it takes for his vision to come back, or for the shaking in his limbs to stop.

Slowly, the world comes back to him and he finds himself feeling empty as Kassandra slowly removes the  _olisbos_  from him, gently as he shivers. He blinks his eyes open and finds her there between his knees still, her lips swollen and bruised, eyes darker than ever. She places the toy to the side and raises her hand–covered in his come, he realizes–and idly licks it clean. Something in him stirs, weakly, at the sight.

He grabs at her, blindly reaching for her arm and when he grasps it, he tugs her roughly to him. She laughs and he hisses as her body grazes his overstimulated cock. She shifts, so she’s curled at his side and he kisses her as hard as he can, fingers curling at her cheek. “Gods,” he whispers and he’s so hoarse, his voice nearly gone. “Gods, Kassandra, I  _love_  you.”

Her smile is brilliant, blinding,  _perfect_  as she strokes his beard and he is struck, once again, how lucky he is.

“Are you alright?” She whispers, nudging her nose against his jawline, laughing softly when his answer is a deep exhale of air and an exhausted nod. “Good. Rest now.”

“But you–”

“I will last,” she smiles into his shoulder, pressing light kisses there before sitting up to look him in the eye. Grinning widely again, she winks: “You will not, if you do not get rest. Don’t worry, I will make sure you take care of me  _soon_.”


	3. demosthenes/lysander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> demosthenes/lysander, spanking and my complete inability to write an ending.

Demosthenes really hopes we wakes up soon. This is a nightmare, plain and simple, that’s the only explanation. Because otherwise, it means he’s actually stuck out here, in the middle of the forest, on this gods forsaken tiny island off of Melos with the enemy.

And not just  _any_  enemy–oh no, it’s Lysander, of the fucking Spartan army. Lysander, who is currently cussing under his breath and kicking rocks across the clearing and into trees, with a steady thunk thunk thunk.

“Will you  _stop_  that?!” Demosthenes snaps, whirling around. They both lost their helmets a few hours ago, when the heat made the sweat drip into their eyes and the helmets slip. He’s regretting that now, because he doesn’t want to even see this asshole in front of him.

Lysander just raises his eyebrows and then kicks a particularly large stone  _toward_  Demosthenes before crossing his arms over his tanned chest and turning away. How absolutely  _childish_.

“Thought you would have been better at following orders,” Demosthenes mutters, scratching his fingers through his beard.

“Why?” Lysander snaps, turning back to look at the Athenian. “Because I was  _helot_  born and ordered around my whole life?”

“No,” Demosthenes blinks, surprised at the information. That was something he did not know about the other man–and he knows a lot about his enemy. “Because you’re a Spartan and you’re all such  _obedient dogs_.”

He ducks the oncoming fist, hearing the wind whiz by his ear when Lysander goes for his face, just like Demosthenes knew it would–or, had hoped it would. The man had anger simmering under his skin and it was just so easy to make him boil over. Planting his foot in the ground, Demosthenes uses his superior height to knock Lysander down with an arm to his chest when he comes for him. “Sit down,” he snaps, shaking his head at the Spartan. “This is a waste of energy. Either we kill each other now or we find a way off of this  _fucking islet_ and back to our armies.”

“Make me sit down, you Athenian–” Having stood back up, Lysander goes for Demosthenes’ legs, but the larger man spins him around, twisting his arm behind his back and pulling him against his chest. Lysander struggles, spitting curses at him, squirming against him.

 _Gods be damned_ , Demosthenes does not  _need_  this right now. He has gone long without and the mere movement against his  _pteruges_  is enough to send heat up his body. He jerks back, his arm still holding Lysander’s down. “Did your father not discipline you as a boy,” he snarls. “He should have beat this incessant anger out of you.”

“Surprising,” Lysander bites back. “I thought Athenians were all talk and nothing else.”

Something makes Demosthenes pause–a tremor in his words, the way Lysander’s shuffling and struggling has ended him right back up against Demosthenes’ chest, the slight arch of his body that collides Lysander’s ass with his groin. He bites the inside of his lip, hard. This can’t happen.

They are enemies, mortal enemies, on either side of the battlefield. There is no attraction here–and Demosthenes knows he is lying to himself, for Lysander is every bit as handsome as his reports say, with his tanned skin and dark hair, dark eyes–and there can definitely be no giving in to battlefield lust here.

And then Lysander bumps back into him again, and the drag of his ass against him makes his cock twitch, and all reasonable thought flies right out of his mind.

“Perhaps,” Demosthenes growls into Lysander’s ear, dragging him back against him harder, his free hand going to the other man’s throat, forcing him to lean against his shoulder and make eye contact. “I should be the one to discipline you, then.”

Lysander’s pupils dilate at his threat, his hand coming to fist at Demosthenes’ hip. “Fucking try it.”

Demosthenes tightens his hand around Lysander’s throat, chuckling darkly before sobering quickly. “Ground rules, Spartan. You want me to stop? Come up with a word–”

“ _Helepolis_ ,” Lysander grits out, swallowing hard, the muscles in his throat bobbing against Demosthenes’ hand. “‘S’not the first time…well, with an enemy it is–”

It’s his turn to break off as Demosthenes sits on a rock, dragging Lysander back with him, letting him go only to rearrange him and bend him over his knees. Quickly grabbing his wrists again, he folds them behind Lysander’s back, holding them tightly with one hand while the other runs feather-light fingers up the back of his thighs.

“You’re fucking kidding me–”

Lysander’s growl of disbelief devolves into a low, trembling moan when Demosthenes swings his hand back and connects it with the back of Lysander’s thighs. He idly flips the  _pteruges_  he wears up over his waist, followed by the thin  _chiton_. The  _perizoma_  will have to go too, he thinks. This works best with bare skin, after all.

He sets to tugging it down, ignoring Lysander’s feeble struggling. If he doesn’t want this, he’ll say the word. Pushing the small clothes down to Lysander’s knees, Demosthenes rests his hand against the other man’s ass. “Since you do not know discipline,” he murmurs, stroking the bare skin, “I will teach it to you. Count–if you do not, it will be worse.”

Lifting his hand, he slaps it back down hard, making Lysander squirm and try to break free of the hand holding him down, but he takes a deep breath and mutters out a low, “ _One_.”

Continuing, Demosthenes alternates between slow, heavy slaps that leave large handprints and quick, sharp ones that redden the skin. By the time they reach Demosthenes’ desired number (twenty-five, he had decided, as long as Lysander behaved), Lysander is trembling in his lap, his cock hard and leaking against Demosthenes’ thigh.

Letting go of Lysander’s hands, he strokes a thumb over the blooming, red welts and handprints on the other man’s ass, admiring his work before tugging the man up and off of him. Lysander stumbles, knees shaky, his face pink with embarrassment but his eyes hungry with desire, his cock parting his  _pteruges_  and tenting his  _chiton_.

Gesturing with a simple jut of his chin toward him, Demosthenes orders him to remove his clothes and it’s surprising (and incredible erotic) how quickly Lysander wriggles out of his clothing. Once he’s naked, Demosthenes stands and undresses himself (just as quickly, but more dignified, he thinks) and sits back down on the rock, his cock jutting proudly to rest on his stomach.

He grabs Lysander’s wrist and tugs him back down, harshly, to his knees before Demosthenes. Gripping himself in one hand, he takes Lysander by the chin and guides him to his swollen cock, smearing his pre-cum against his lips, then pushing his way between them.

Lysander growls, and Demosthenes isn’t sure if it’s anger or desire, but at this point as long as the word isn’t being said, he really doesn’t care. The Spartan’s mouth is heat, and wetness, and suction and gods, it has been far too long since Demosthenes had time for anything but war.

He threads his fingers through the Spartan’s hair, tugging on that ridiculous braid they all seem to have. He presses Lysander down onto his cock, holding him down as he fucks his mouth and he’s vaguely amazed Lysander is allowing this to happen. But it’s not enough–Demosthenes wants more.

Pulling Lysander off his cock, he pushes him gently, standing so he can position himself behind the Spartan soldier. Knowing his intentions, Lysander bears down on all fours, ass lifted a little higher than the rest of him and Demosthenes groans. He kneels behind him and spits on his hand, pressing his wet fingers into Lysander, trying to ease their passage.

“There’s no oil,” he grits out, scissoring his fingers, pumping them in and out of Lysander who is steadily whining into his arm.

“I don’t care,” Lysander snaps over his shoulder as Demosthenes withdraws his fingers. “You fuckin’ started this, you better end it.”

Spitting again, Demosthenes rubs his wet hand over his cock and does it again for good measure before bending forward and sliding his tongue against Lysander’s entrance, grinning to himself when the other man chokes on his air at the sensation. Then, he positions his cock and slowly,  _slowly_ , pushes in.

He is considerate enough to give the man a moment to adjust–and that moment is filled with cursing and Lysander slamming his fist into the ground below him as he works through the burn. Finally, though, Lysander moves back against him a little, whining at the sensation, and Demosthenes takes that as the go-ahead.

Pulling almost all of the way out of him, Demosthenes then snaps his hips forward, filling Lysander again, and slapping his ass cheek sharply with his hand. Below him, Lysander groans and reaches under himself to tug on his own cock. Demosthenes has half a mind to order him to stop, but can’t truly be bothered.

Slapping his ass again, Demosthenes lets out a strangled moan when Lysander clenches around him. His fingers scrabble at his hips and he can feel the low laughter in the other man’s chest, rumbling through him, but he’s far too gone to comment on anything other than: “ _Gods dammit_ –you’re so fucking  _tight_ –”

Lysander rolls his hips back into Demosthenes, the two of them frantically rutting against each other. Chasing his hand away, Demosthenes wraps his own fingers around Lysander’s cock, tugging at him furiously. His knees ache, his back aches, the sun is hot on their skin but he can barely feel any of it as pleasure builds up inside of him. It reaches a fever pitch when he thrusts deep, hitting a spot that makes Lysander yelp and groan and writhe under him, coming hard and all over Demosthenes’ hand.

With a few helpless snaps of his hips, he follows suit, pressed tightly against Lysander, his head against his shoulder, cock filling the other soldier with his seed. He gasps deep, breathing air back in as he pulls out and leans against the rock. Lysander lays in the dirt, eyes squeezing shut, shoulders shaking as he laughs to himself.

“What are you laughing at?” Demosthenes growls weakly.

Lysander snorts, and then coughs and pushes himself up into a sitting position, looking for his  _perizoma_. “The ridiculousness of all of this. What would Athens and Sparta do to us if they knew what had happened?” He laughs again, a little humorlessly, then stands and grabs his small clothes. “A pity there’s a war on, General. This was… _interesting_.”

Demosthenes watches him, eyes lingering on the bruising hand marks left on his ass. Biting the inside of his lip, he nods. “That it was.”


	4. alkibiades/kassandra/brasidas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alkibiades/kassandra/brasidas, a threesome in korinthia & once again: my inability to write an ending!

If you ask Alkibiades how this happened, he would just smile and offer you one of his patented vacant smiles and a shrug and say something about how the gods blessed him with wonderful skills.

In truth, he didn’t think hitting on both the Eagle Bearer and her handsome Spartan friend would work, even here at the Temple of Aphrodite. Perhaps she really is looking out for the young politician. Kassandra is an  _amazing_  treat all on her own, but now, watching her straddling the lap of Brasidas, watching them kiss the life out of each other, is even better.

Alkibiades reaches for his  _kylix_  of sweet wine–mixed perfectly by the  _hetaerae_ , with spices and honey–and downs most of it in a gulp. He is perfectly content, for the moment, to sit and observe. The two Spartans have stripped to their small clothes, Kassandra’s  _strophion_  somewhere in the pile of silken blankets behind them, and Brasidas seems singularly determined to map out the scars on her body with his tongue.

It’s driving her wild, and in turn, driving Alkibiades wild. He sets his  _kylix_  down and stands, shrugging out of the thin  _himation_  he still had on (for the life of him, he can’t figure out why he was still dressed to that point) and sidles up behind Kassandra, nudging between Brasidas’ thighs. The Spartan warrior pins him with a glance, then nods very slightly.

Ah _._  It must be weird, knowing you’re going to sleep with one of the most interesting men in Athens, when you are a Spartan. Oh well, Alkibiades will do his best to not frighten the poor dear away. He runs his fingers along the sides of Kassandra, then along her shoulders, massaging her neck in the way he’s learned she likes.

She groans and lets her head fall back so she can look at him. She’s got that dreamy stare she gets when they start messing around and he laughs and darts forward to kiss her. Twisting in Brasidas’ lap, she wraps an arm around Alkbiades’ shoulders tugging him close to lick her way into his mouth.

With a groan, he parts his lips for her and slides his tongue against hers–she tastes like the sweet wine, the grapes from earlier and something that is all her. Slipping his hand down, he takes the weight of one breast in his palm, squeezing the swell of her flesh, running his thumb across her nipple until she moans into his mouth.

Pulling away from her lips is a struggle, but alas, he must do it. He turns her back to Brasidas and arches her back, pressing her chest forward. He lifts her breast to the other man’s mouth and with a pleased hum, watches as Brasidas laps at her stiffening nipple, sucking it into his mouth and worrying it with his teeth until the bud is hard and reddened. She sighs contentedly, tangling her fingers into Brasidas’ hair, her hips rocking forward into his.

Alkibiades settles in next to them on the bed, tugging at Kassandra until she falls onto the mattress next to him with a whine. Brasidas swallows hard, shifting until he’s laying next to her, his hand stroking the inside of her thigh.

“So,” Alkibiades smiles at them both. “How do we want to do this? Playing it by ear is fun but you two seem like the types who need a plan of attack in this situation. We can do this a few ways, darlings.” He takes Kassandra’s leg in his hands, licking a spot near her ankle, enjoying the way she stiffens and melts under his ministrations. “We’ve got…a  _chain_ –you, the Spartan and then me or any permeation of–or perhaps a  _bridge_? That’s you in the middle, darling, and one in your mouth, the other in your cunt.”

Brasidas inhales sharply, his fingers twitching at Kassandra’s leg and Alkibiades shoots him a wolfish grin. “That’s a vote for that one. There’s also…well, I don’t know what object it is. A rock perhaps because it’s all just smooshed together. But you in the middle, Kass, one in your cunt and the other…” he trails his fingers down her leg, stopping when they brush against the swell of her ass. She raises her eyebrow and looks between the two of them. “It’s your choice though, little goat. After all, you’re the one getting  _absolutely_  railed in this situation.”

“The last one,” Kassandra says, after a moment’s hesitation. She reaches for Alkibiades, pulling him down for a kiss and here, between her thighs, he can smell her arousal, how much the conversation has titillated her.

“Excellent choice,” he whispers against her lips. “My absolute specialty.”

“It’s all your specialty,” she grins, pushing his shoulder with a laugh. Grabbing for Brasidas, she kisses him as well, taking her time to explore the Spartan soldier’s mouth as he kneads and pinches at her breast. Alkibiades slips between them, tugging Kassandra’s small clothes down and groaning at the sight of her slick folds.

“You little minx,” he whispers against her thigh and he can feel her laugh more than hear it as Brasidas swallows it down. Running his fingers along her folds, he slips two in, groaning at the slick, tight heat of her. “ _Gods_ , Kassandra, you never cease to feel amazing.”

Wiggling closer (and if he bumps into Brasidas’ cock, which is currently straining in a most magnificent way against his small clothes, that’s just a bonus. He’ll let the man come to him though–he knows how intimidating his sexual prowess is), Alkibiades sucks the stiff nub of her clit into his mouth and scrapes his teeth along the hood, drawing a low, shaky moan out of her when she tears her mouth from Brasidas’.

Crooking his fingers inside of her, he swirls his tongue in every letter of the alphabet he can think of (it’s hard to think at this very moment), delighting in the way she trembles when he makes a  _xi_ across her folds.

She scrabbles for his shoulder, trying to tug him up and away, no doubt desperate to get the show on the road, but he shrugs her off and pumps his fingers in and out faster, harder, while sucking on her skin, her clit, again and again until she cries his name out, her knees colliding with his head, rolling her hips against his mouth and fingers.

Sitting back, he wipes his mouth off with a grin and drags his fingers over his tongue, shooting her a wink. Beside them both, Brasidas is trembling, his small clothes lost somewhere during Alkibiades’ time enjoying Kassandra’s cunt. He can’t help but raise his eyes–it’s true what they say about Spartans, then–as he takes in Brasidas’ naked form.

He is sculpted by the gods themselves, all muscle and sinew, with a cock that looks like Zeus himself blessed it. His mouth waters, but he forces himself to turn away. As much as he’d love to pounce on the Spartan, he won’t do it without Brasidas making the first move. And if that never happens? At least he got to see it, for his dreams.

Shoving his own small clothes over his hips, Alkibiades takes himself in hand, stroking his cock with a soft groan as he watches Kassandra pumping her hand along Brasidas’ length, focusing on the way her lower lip pouts, swollen and bruised from the force of the other man’s kisses. She glances over at Alkibiades and smiles, eyes hooded and hazy. “How should we–”

“Brasidas, lay down on your back,” he commands, watching as the soldier listens to him. Oh, how Alkibiades wants to explore that one day. “Then you, Kassandra, on top of him. I’ll go get the oil.”

He stands and pads over to the table where the cask of olive oil sits, listening to Kassandra moan as she sinks down on Brasidas’ cock. When he comes back, her thighs are trembling as she tries not to move, trying to wait until he joins them.

Pressing a hand on her back, he pushes her to lean into Brasidas chest. Dropping a kiss at a scar on her back, Alkibiades presses oil-slick fingers against her back entrance, groaning when she shivers under him. He presses in, slowly, scissoring his fingers and sliding them in and out to prepare her for his cock.

She clenches around him, drawing a deep groan from Brasidas under her. Muscles trembling, Kassandra whimpers as he adds another finger, laving his tongue against the dimples in her back. “Relax, darling,” he whispers, crooking his fingers before removing them altogether. He grabs the oil and pours it over his hard length, guiding it to rest at her entrance. “Ready?”

Nodding sharply, Kassandra squeezes her fingers against Brasidas’ shoulders. As Alkibiades presses in (oh gods, he has certainly lucked out tonight), a ragged moan falls from her lips. After a few moments of Brasidas kissing her, of Alkibiades stroking her back, she swallows hard and nods, experimentally wriggling between them.

It takes a few thrusts, but they find a rhythm that works, with Brasidas thrusting up inside of her and Alkibiades rolling his hips into her from behind, and they draw the most delicious noises from Kassandra between them. He knows this experience won’t last long, so he enjoys every moment of it.

She trembles under him, and Brasidas’ hands are strong on her thighs, he fucks into the hot depths of her, almost too tight for him to handle. His hands grip her hips, holding on desperately to not fly apart at the seams. Her words are strings of curses and sobs as she tries to hold herself up between them on shaky arms, and after a particularly sharp thrust from both of them, she cries out, shuddering and clenching around them, arching and writhing as orgasm takes her.

She’s so fucking tight around him that Alkibiades, who prides himself on taking his time, cannot hold out any longer. Her body tugs at him, drawing him deeper and each spasm of her body milks his cock and he comes with a yell, dragging himself out of her and spurting thick ropes of come across her back.

Under her, Brasidas thrusts harder, faster, for a moment while Alkibiades coos words of encouragement to them both, wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging her back against him, so Brasidas can find his end as well. It doesn’t take him much longer either and when Kassandra draws her hand across his cheek, he kisses her palm and comes hard inside of her.

Alkibiades grabs a cloth from the table next to them and cleans Kassandra’s back off (and by proxy, his chest from holding her) before handing the cloth to her. Grabbing the  _amphora_  of wine, he drinks straight out of the jug, gulping at the liquid like its water. Finished, he hands it to Brasidas, who takes it gratefully. “Well,” Alkibiades grins at them. “That was fun. We must do it again, my darlings.”


	5. brasidas/kassandra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brasidas/kassandra & bath tub

Filling the deep tub was always a chore, having to first fill the pots with water from the pipes, then heat them in the kitchen, and then bring them across the house to the private bathroom. Brasidas had to have known, when they renovated the house, fixed up the crumbling foundations and broken pipework, that the deep, stone tub would be a pain at times, but he also thought it would be worth it.

And watching Kassandra sink down into the water with a noise that is half hiss and half moan, he knows he was right. She’d promised, months ago, she wouldn’t do anymore crazy quests–in fact she and Alexios have stayed in the Peloponnese for the most part, with infrequent trips to Attika to touch base with her friends there. He is grateful for the promise, for her keeping it. He knows that adventure calls to her, sings in her blood, but he almost lost her that last return, even if she tries to play it off sometimes.

She’s come back with a huge bruise across her shoulder, scratches down her arms and she tells him of a run in with a mercenary who had a jaguar at his side as he carefully cleans the scratches. They’re sewn up by Hippokrates’ expert hand, but he feels better knowing he’s tending to them as well.

“A jaguar, Brasidas,” she groans, sinking further into the bath to let her aching shoulder into the heat. “In the middle of fucking Messenia.”

“Where’s the pelt?” He murmurs, drawing his lips along the slope of her neck, smiling softly when she trembles under his touch.

Sighing softly, she reaches back to play at his hair while his lips travel to the bruising, kissing her there too. “I didn’t get the final blow. Alexios did, and he took the pelt. Probably so I can never live it down.”

Chuckling, Brasidas presses another kiss to her shoulder and stands, moving toward the door when her hand shoots out, grabbing his. She tugs at him and scoots up in the bath. “Come here,” her voice is low, her eyes darkening. “Get in with me. I’ve missed you.”

He smiles helplessly at her, reaching to untie the bindings at his waist, pulling the  _chiton_  up over his head, dropping it and his  _perizoma_  onto the floor. Stepping into the hot water behind her, he settles in, arranging himself and then pulling her back against his chest. Humming at the weight of her against him, he wraps his arms around her, pressing kisses into her good shoulder.

“We match,” Kassandra whispers, tracing the bruise on her left shoulder, then twisting to press a kiss against the jagged scar on his shoulder. “For a few days at least.”

“We have other scars that match,” he murmurs, surprised at how deeply his voice rumbles from his chest. She shivers against him and his cock twitches. Seeing her sly grin, he rolls his eyes at her. “You had a  _plan_.”

“I always have a plan, Brasidas.” Running her fingers along his thighs, she hums happily when he slides his hands to her breasts, cupping them to rub his thumbs along her nipples, already stiffened from the cool air outside the bath.

She groans, arching up into his hands when he pinches them lightly, with just the right amount of pressure she likes, somewhere in that hazy between of pleasure and pain. One hand drifts lower, down the flat plane of her stomach, carefully bypassing the long, jagged scars that remind him of when he almost lost her, until he reaches the apex of her thighs. His fingers dance over her clit as she opens her legs wider, pressing into his knees.

Sliding his hand further down, he parts her folds, sliding fingers between them to dip inside of her, pressing the heel of his palm into her clit, letting her grind down on his hand. Her moan, loud, and unabashed, brings his cock to full staff, pressing hard against her back. She leans her head back on his shoulder, chest heaving as he fucks her with his fingers–slow drags out and quick plunges back inside, that pull needy sobs out of her, her fingers tight on his legs–and he kisses her, hard, his tongue sliding into her mouth to lick every instance of her taste into his mouth.

She’s trembling, needy with want, with desire, when he lifts her hips enough to slide under her, into her, from behind. She’s half in his lap, her legs hanging over the edges of the tub as he fucks into her. His hand returns to her slippery folds, sliding through them to catch her clit again; the other hand cups a breast once more, pulling and pinching at the stiff nipple. He kisses her again and again until he can’t breathe.

“Gods,” he mutters, water sloshing over the lip of the tub as he pushes into her again and again. “I missed you so much–”

Her answer is a choked sob, her fingers in his hair, twisting into his braid. He leaves her clit to grip her thigh, to hold on to her as he thrusts up, to keep her in place, and her free hand slips between her legs to do the job. She’s arching into her hand, down onto his cock, mumbling soft I love you’s and missed you too’s and when she comes it’s all at once:

Shuddering and shaking, her legs slipping back into the water with a splash, her cries of his name reverberating off the stone and tile room and when her cunt clenches around him, he follows behind her–a shout of Kassandra on his lips before he bites into her good shoulder, eyes squeezing shut, his fingers hard at her thigh, the other turning her head so he can kiss her again.

They sit there in the ruined water, kissing for a long moment after they come down. It’s sloppy and indulgent and he can’t help the depraved grin that crosses his lips. He’s missed her so much. Nudging her jawline with his nose, he reaches for the linens left on a footstool by the bath. “Let’s get out of here. I have plans for us.”

“Do they involve clothes?” She grins, standing to leave the water, but he stops her, holding her there in front of him so he can lick the rivulets of water dripping down her thighs. Looking up at her with dark eyes, his cock twitches again and her smile turns softer. Stroking his jaw, she murmurs, “Good. I like this plan.”


	6. brasidas/kassandra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brasidas/kassandra & body/scar worship

He is spread before her like a feast, like a sacrifice and she is the worshipper. She kneels beside him, his naked skin aflame with his desire for her, always shifting to be closer to her. Kassandra presses a hand against his chest, her fingers slipping through the coarse hair there, and she leans forward to kiss him just once, and quickly.

Brasidas grumbles at her, but turns his head when she beckons, allowing her to press her lips against the scar on his cheek, letting her pass over the mark with a flick of her tongue. She knows this mark like she knows her own–the story, the weight behind it, how to make his breath quicken when she scrapes her teeth along the edge of it.

She moves further down, pressing soft kisses into the faint, barely there scars on his face and neck–tiny reminders of days long gone in the  _agoge_. Her fingers dance over the puncture and slice in his shield arm’s shoulder–where her brother ( _Deimos_ , she scolds herself.  _He was Deimos, then_ ) had tried to take Brasidas from her for the final time. Where he’d missed his throat, instead tearing the skin at his clavicle, then sliding through his shoulder and shattering it.

Here she pays a special tribute. This mark, however terrible and however much Brasidas hates it, is proof that he returned home to her. It was a high price to pay: the end of his military career, and she knows some days he wonders if it is worth it, if it would have been better to die, but gods, she was determined to make those thoughts flee and never come back. Her kisses are soft against the skin and mostly concentrated on the edges where new flesh meets old–he cannot feel much in the middle of the wounds still, where Hippokrates’ expert hand stitched him and reopened him when infection set in.

Her tongue traces the marks, her teeth sharply nipping at sensitive areas, just to drag a groan from his chest. She sucks marks into the flesh, marking his scars with spots of her own, claiming this wound, this hurt, as a victory for herself. Sucking a particularly harsh bruise just under his clavicle, she shivers at his strangled noise, at the tug of his hand in her hair, the electricity dancing over her scalp.

Slipping to his sword arm, Kassandra laps at the old scar across this shoulder–a wound from an old battle: Arkadia, when Lagos killed the Athenian Archon and took his place–fingers wandering under her until the reach the scar at his ribs. Once the shoulder is well loved, she kisses her way down to that scar that matches hers: at almost the exact same spot under her ribcage, the ones they compared so long ago for the first time.

Scraping her teeth along the mark, Kassandra holds his hips still as they buck toward her. His cock is hard against her chest as she kneels over his legs, and she can smell the muskiness of him in the air, the tell-tale fragrance of want and need emanating from them both. She ignores it, for now, desperately wanting to continue her journey across his body, mapping out his battles and victories.

Pressing her lips against the ribs scar again, she glances up at Brasidas’ face as she traces the mark with her tongue. His eyes are closed, his arm thrown over his head, teeth worrying his bottom lip. Purposefully, she shifts so that her breasts graze his cock, making it bob against his stomach and he groans softly at the contact. She grins against the scar, sucking the skin into her mouth to leave a bruise.

Licking across his hip bone, along the deep v of his groin, she settles at the puckered skin and deep red scarring of his right leg–Deimos’ first attempt on his life at Pylos. The wound she thought had killed him, as she sat in that cell in Athens, rotting for nearly a year. Here, the salt of his skin is sharper, as she drags her tongue from where the scar starts at mid-thigh, up to where leg meets groin at its end. Her nose brushes against the thatch of hair from where his cock juts proudly, but still, she ignores it in favor of lapping at the marks on his leg.

The skin along the junction of his thigh is tender, sensitive, and when she sucks hard to mark a bruise there, he hisses, his hand coming to her hair again. His taste is heavier here–salt and muskiness and smoke and iron and all him. The scar here is heavy and thick against his skin, the nerves dead in the middle, but where new skin has connected with old, it flares to life. She scrapes her teeth to his knee, dragging out his groans.

She sits up, back on her heels, thumb stroking a scar under his kneecap, taking in her handiwork. There are bruises blooming at nearly every scar she has caressed; his chest heaves as he takes in a shuddering breath and his cock twitches as she lets her gaze fall on it, licking her lips at the sight of the drops of pre-cum escaping the slit. Grabbing his hand, she drags her tongue over the scarred knuckles, teeth scraping against bone and he swallows hard. “I love you,” she whispers against his hand, her voice heavy with desire. “I love  _every_  inch of you.”

Setting his hand back to the mattress, she crawls between his legs and licks a stripe along the underside of his cock, paying special attention to the join of his shaft and balls–worrying against the skin there with the tip of her tongue until his thighs tremble and he whines at her–before tugging up and down with expert flicks of her wrist, dragging his foreskin down to lap at the slit on the head of his cock.

He tastes divine here–more than anywhere else, his taste permeates here. The smoke of the dinner fire, the iron and salt of sweat and blood from training, the musky scent that is him. She swallows him down as much as she can, bobbing her head until her nose nudges his skin, delighting in the feel of his cock choking her, the heaviness of him on her tongue, the burn of her lips opening wide and her throat taking him in. He’s shuddering under her ministrations, his hands in her hair–simultaneously trying to press her further down onto his cock and trying to pull her away–her name falling from his lips in a strangled gasp.

Pulling off of him, she gasps for breath as her hand twists around his shaft, dragging up and down the velvet covered steel of his length. He’s muttering her name still, trying to drag her to him and she lets him, after a final lick and kiss against the underside of his cock.

Kassandra crawls back up his body, stopping when her hips hover over his, reaching between them to hold him so she can slide onto his cock but he stops her, his hand flat against her inner thigh, the other swiping his fingers along her folds, groaning at how wet she is. He slides his fingers together, lifts them to his lips and licks them clean and her moan is a hoarse sigh as she sinks down onto him.

“I love you,” He mutters, fisting a hand in her hair to drag her to him, kissing her hard. She can faintly taste herself against his lips, shuddering as his hips snap up against hers.

She pushes back against his chest, bouncing and rolling her hips above him, grinning wickedly at his groans. “I love you too–” and his hand tightens at her hip from the raspiness in her voice and she shivers knowing it was from the weight of his cock choking her moments ago. “I love you so much.”

Brasidas yanks her back down to him, his hands tight on her wrists, tugging them behind her back. He holds her there, her face pressed against his, her chest flush against his, as he plants his feet into the mattress and pumps into her with hard, long thrusts. Each movement strokes a spot inside of her that makes her see stars, she’s tugging her arms, trying to get leverage, anything so she can move back against him but he won’t let her.

His hands stay strong around her wrists, his arm wrapping around her waist as he pounds into her from below. All she can do is kiss him when he turns his head for it and gasp for air as he thrusts it out of her. His name is a broken sob against his lips, and when she comes, it’s with a long, hard, shuddering moan of broken curses and unintelligible cries. His grip on her hands lessens but he still pushes into her, chasing his own release.

She wrenches her hands from his grasp, moving to stroke his neck, to lick at the spot under his ear and to take the earlobe between her teeth, tugging and worrying the skin with a gasp, driving him over the edge. His hands fly to her hips, pressing her down onto his cock as he floods her cunt with his seed with a short cry of her name.

After a moment, he rolls her off of him, pressing his fingers through her sweaty hair, off of her face and presses kisses into the scars there–on her eyebrow, forehead, cheeks, nose, lips and chin–murmuring soft affirmations and praises to her. She shivers, curling up in his arms with a smile.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. Grabbing at the blanket, he tugs it up over them. “But I’m getting you back later.”  


	7. brasidas/kassandra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brasidas/kassandra, kassandra begging

She thinks she’s such a tease.

Don’t get Brasidas wrong–she is one, but she can never commit. She’s always too eager to find release for both of them. As soon as he starts to whine, she’s working them over with fingers, mouth, cunt, whatever as long as they both come. He loves that about her.

He also loves how she seems to forget, every time, that he is perfectly content to ignore his own need and spend hours between her thighs if need be. He will happily torture her with feather-light touches and the barest licks between her folds until she comes at his command. She always forgets and it delights him to no end to see her realize she’s lost this round.

So when she rubs herself against him in the kitchen one night, he’s perfectly happy to play along. He’s entertained some ideas of late–and tonight seems as good as any to try them out. Kassandra winds her arms around his neck as he tries to cut some vegetables up, her breath against his neck and ear a distraction that requires him to set his knife down.

“Are you not hungry anymore, love?” He murmurs, turning his head to catch her lips in a kiss. She’s smiling against his mouth, her hips shifting against his backside from where she stands behind him.

Kassandra’s fingers drag down his side, to his thigh under the  _chiton_  he wears, humming softly. “I’m hungry. Just not for food at the moment.”

Groaning at her silly joke, he turns around in her arms, reaching for her wrists as he backs her up against the table. “Perhaps we should eat first,” his voice drops into a deeper range as the desire creeps up on him. Her eyes darken at the sound, her pulse quickening at her throat. “I have plans that could…take a while.”

She reaches behind her and grabs an apple, taking a healthy bite out of it before offering it to him. Laughing, he plucks the fruit from her fingers and sinks his teeth into it, the crisp taste igniting on his taste buds. She’s a wily one, he’ll give her that. Handing the apple back to her, he moves and gestures toward the bedroom. “I’ll be there in a second, let me wrap the vegetables up so they don’t get brown.”

Kassandra all but scampers into the room, tugging her  _chiton_  off as she walks across the threshold. By the time he’s entered, she’s naked and finishing off the apple. She smirks at him, setting the apple’s core on the bedside table, spreading her legs for him as he presses into her space.

Tugging the leather out of her braid, he tangles his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back, making her mouth fall open with a soft gasp and eyes that darken even further. Leaning forward, Brasidas sets one knee on the edge of the bed, between her thighs, leaning further into her space. He traces her bottom lip with his tongue before licking into her open mouth, pressing his tongue against hers, his hand strong at the back of her head, fingers still tangled in her hair.

With his free hand, he traces the tight bud of her nipple, dragging a finger over the hard flesh and taking it between two fingers to pinch and tug on. She moans into his mouth, her hands tight on his biceps and she rolls her hips toward his knee, desperate for friction.

Immediately, he stops, and steps back a little. She huffs a disappointed sound in the back of her throat and reaches for the bulge of his cock through the  _chiton_  he still wears but he sidesteps her hands, shaking his head. “Lay on the bed, Kassandra.”

She shivers at his command–while he often takes control of their bed (a wonderful thing she has granted him–the give and take of roles in their sex life–that either one of them can be in charge and the wonderful highs that come with), it is rare that he takes this much control. But when he uses that voice–the one she calls his battlefield voice–she listens.

Scooting up on the bed, she lays down, eyes impossibly darker, lips parted, thighs pressing together, shifting and he feels a swell of love run through him. He does not deserve this beautiful woman.

“Spread your legs,” he murmurs, tapping her knee, and when they fall to the side, he points at her hands. “Hands on the rails.”

The headboard is made of wood–the bed was one of the first things he built for their new home, and for a time, the only furniture they bothered to move in–with carved rails that meet with an arch, decorated with little wooden animals. Slipping her hands through the wood, Kassandra curls her fingers around the rails and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“If you move,” he warns, crawling between her legs once more. “I stop. Got it?”

“Got it,” she whispers, her voice hoarse with need.

He tilts her hips up, cradling her ass in his hands so he can position her how he wants her. This way, with her legs spread before him, he can see just how wet her folds already are, smell the thick scent of her want wafting through the air. Her fingers twitch at the headboard as he stares down at her cunt and he smirks–she’s not going to listen, he knows it.

But for now…for now she’s doing what he’s asked, so he leans forward and licks her from entrance to clit, savoring the tangy taste of her with a groan, deep in his chest. He parts her folds with his thumbs so that he can delve in, draw out her slick and her taste with deep laps of his tongue. Every pass of his mouth over her leaves her thighs trembling.

He glances up and she’s pressing her fingers against her eyes as if she can block out the torment of his beard and tongue against her sensitive skin. But that isn’t what she’s supposed to be doing. With another long drag of his tongue, he pulls away, instead sitting back on his heels and wiping his beard clean as she wails out of frustration.

“I got distracted,” she whines as she throws her hands back to the headboard. “Gods dammit, Brasidas–”

He doesn’t reply, except to give her a slow smirk as he settles back down between her thighs. He drags his fingers through her slick folds, rubbing circles over her clit, mouthing a line along her inner thigh, sucking bruises into her skin.

With a quick twist of his wrist, he slides one finger inside of her, slowly dragging it back out and in again. His thumb brushes against the stiff, swollen bundle of nerves at the top of her folds, and he hides a grin against her thigh when she whines above him. “What’s wrong, my love?” He questions, pulling his finger out to swirl around her entrance before pressing it back in again. “Not what you want?”

Kassandra growls, low and dangerous, but keeps her hands tight on the rails as she rolls her hips toward his hand. “If you don’t fucking  _fuck_  me, Brasidas,” she hisses and he grins outright at her this time. He loves it when she gets riled up, her filthy words sending heat to his belly, making his cock twitch against his  _perizoma_. “I will kill you.”

She’s not describing his death yet, so he knows she’s not nearly tortured enough. He merely hums at her threat and dips a second finger inside of her–for just long enough to hear her sigh with content, before slipping it back out. He does this a few more times–quick pumps of two fingers to give her the friction she desires, then, then switching back to one.

With a frustrated growl, her hand falls from the headboard so she can grab his hair and tug his face toward her cunt. Laughing, he presses a quick kiss against her clit before pulling away, tapping her hand. “Kassandra, you’re not listening.”

“I’m going to stab you in the throat,” she answers, her eyes wild, hair tangled around her face. Still, her hand goes back to its place against the wood even as her threats continue. “I am going to slice your balls off first and–”

Her words are strangled into a moan as he, laughingly, slides two fingers inside of her and sucks her clit in between his teeth, worrying the flesh and curling his fingers inside of her. Her knees knock into his head and he maneuvers so that his shoulders press them apart again, concentrating on lapping at her swollen flesh, and the addition of a third finger.

She sobs out a moan as he stretches her, fills her with his fingers, pumping them in and out excruciatingly slowly. This isn’t any better than the unfulfilling one finger he did earlier–yes now she feels the fullness, the taut pressure of him inside of her, but there’s still no friction, no way for her to get off when he goes so slowly. Especially when he pulls away from her clit, electing instead to just watch her.

Her foot kicks into the bed beside his shoulder and she arches her back, trying to get closer, to make him rub against her trembling nub–she’s so ready but he just won’t get her there. Curses tumble from her lips as he plants calm, gentle kisses against her thigh.

“What do you want from me?” She sobs against her arm, her fingers white-knuckled and tight around the wooden slats above her. “ _Gods_ , Brasidas–”

He hums another gentle laugh and kisses the junction where her thigh meets groin, licking at the soft and tender skin there. “Just say the magic word,” he rumbles, glancing up at her with a grin that is all teeth. “You can do it.”

She hates this as much as he loves it. She will let him take charge, will let him play her body like a  _kithara_ , but she hates begging, hates asking for something she should just be given–and he agrees with her most nights. She should be given everything in the world, but sometimes she should ask for it too. “You  _kèpfos panoùgros_ …when I cut your balls off,” she pants, her lip swollen and bruised from the force of her biting into it. “I’m going to feed them to the fucking goat.”

Brasidas snorts and presses another kiss against her silky skin, moving his fingers still so slowly, and this time when he drags them out of her, he doesn’t press them back in. Instead he slips them along her folds, exploring without any benefit to her. She growls in frustration again, kicking her feet.

After a long moment of her panting and trying to catch his fingers by rolling her hips, she sighs, her breath shaky. Her thighs are twitching, the muscles in her stomach jumping and she’s shaking her head even as she sobs out, “Please. Brasidas, please, _please_ , just _fuck me_ –”

He’s up on her before she can finish, yanking his  _perizoma_  off as he moves. He tugs his  _chiton_  out of the way, not bothering to remove it, pressing himself between her legs and with a thrust of his hips, his cock is enveloped by her wet, hot heat. She sobs against his shoulder as he rolls his hips against hers, thrusting into her hard and fast.

Kassandra grabs at his face, her hands’ place at the headboard forgotten now, turning him so she can kiss him as he pounds into her, her tongue hot against his as she slides it into his mouth. She’s making noises in one long, constant stream: sobs and moans and utterances of gods, yes, Brasidas and curses that sound strangled.

He slips his hand between them, just above where they’re joined, and plucks at her clit, the engorged nub near quivering under his fingers, and she stiffens in his arms, her cunt squeezing tight around him, drawing him in deeper and deeper as she comes.

Holding her hair out of her face, he watches her as she finally finds her release–her bruised lips parting, a silent moan escaping her as she squeezes her eyes shut. Her fingers are tight against his arm and shoulder, her knees hard against his waist. He thrusts into her still, chasing his own release in the tightness that engulfs him. One, two, three more thrusts in and he’s spilling himself inside of her, splashing his seed into her still spasming cunt.

Out of reflex, as she relaxes, he thrusts a few more times but she cries out against his lips, shaking her head, too overstimulated. She’s shaking and whimpering as he pulls himself out of her, as he strokes her hair and tugs her to him for a kiss.

“You alright,” he whispers, pressing his lips against her cheeks and forehead as she relaxes against him, shivering. “Kassandra?”

“I hate you,” she yawns, grabbing his face with a sudden movement and kissing him hard, his lips smashing against his teeth. “I hate you and I love you and I am so getting you back.”

Snorting, he tucks her into his arm, against his shoulder. Somehow, he doubts that. She never has the patience.


	8. alexios/melina(oc)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alexios/melina(oc), body/scar worship
> 
> melina is an oc between me @alethiometry. melina joins the peeps in the homestead au with her infant son, sebastos, and a follower was so kind to ask for some fic for them :D

It’s a rough morning. Melina can tell in the distance in Alexios’ eyes, the way he chews on the inside of his lip (just like his mother and sister) and stalks through the rooms of their home. Something came to him in his sleep last night and wormed their way into his head and he’s paying the price for it now.

He tries to continue on like normal; still giving Meli reading work to do, still fixing Sebastos’ snack of wheat bread soaked in milk, but she catches him staring off into space, chewing on his lip and tapping his fingers against the wood of the table. Sighing, Meli sets her reed pen down and stands, reaching to take Sebastos out of his arms.

“I’m fine,” Alexios says as a reflex–she hasn’t even asked a question yet. Melina just looks at him, her eyebrows raising to disappear under her fringe. Alexios sighs and slumps in his chair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright,” Meli whispers, hiking Seb onto her hip and reaching out to brush her fingers against Alexios’ cheek. “I’m going to see if your sister will watch the baby for a bit. Stay here?”

Catching her fingers with his own, he squeezes them, staring down at their joined hands and nods. She darts forward to press a kiss against his hair and moves away to ready a bag for her son. Kassandra is happy to watch Sebastos, as she always is, and her daughters clamor for his attention, the girls babbling in some sort of baby language to each other while Sebastos, who is a mere nine months now, stares up at them in wonder.

When Meli returns to the house across the farmstead, she finds Alexios chopping wood with such force it nearly disintegrates the logs. She waits against the wall, studying his movements as he moves from log pile to stump. His muscles ripple under his skin as he lifts the axe, the  _chiton’s_  hem rising higher with every lift of his arms, showing her just a little more of his muscular thighs. There are scars there that crisscross over his limbs and she knows there are even more under his clothes, scars that remind him of horrible things and bring back the bad dreams.

She knows this because she has the same problem. Her fingers drift to the mostly faded scar at her throat and she’s suddenly aware of the marks slashing her back, the one at her inner thigh–all scars that have their own horrible memories that haunt her in sleep.

He stops to wipe sweat from his brow and Meli uses that moment to slip between him and the stump, to slide her hands over his chest and shoulders and to play with the ends of his hair. “Come inside,” she whispers, pressing herself against him. “Come with me.”

She’s on her tiptoes to reach the height of his shoulders (and she curses, not for the first time, just how tiny she is compared to him), and he spans a hand against her lower back to steady her as he sighs. “I’m gross, sweaty and–”

She bats her eyelashes at him and he groans, turning his head to hide a smile. She’s grinning when he looks back at her, glad that the action can get a laugh out of him even when he’s feeling low. He lodges the ax into the stump and tugs her up against him, bunching her  _peplos_  at the small of her back and hauling her off her feet to walk inside with her in his arms.

“You’re wicked,” he whispers into her ear, pressing her against the wall as soon as they’re indoors. Her feet dangle as he holds her up with arms wrapped around her middle and she squirms against him, trying to dislodge herself. She has plans and she won’t let him derail them by taking charge.

“Let me show you just how wicked I can be,” Meli murmurs, carding her hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp. He sighs and leans into her fingers, pressing a kiss against her lips before letting her down to the floor. She takes his hand, tugging him to their bedroom. “Let me get your mind off of whatever plagues you.”

Swallowing hard, Alexios sits on the edge of the bed, his golden eyes turning dark as he watches her unpin the fibulae at her shoulders, as the thin linen of her  _peplos_  falls to her feet, leaving her bare before him. He groans, reaching out for her, but she shakes her head and darts forward to untie the bindings at his waist, to tug the sweat-soaked  _chiton_  from his body. “No,” she whispers, when he again tries to tug her toward him. “Let me take care of you.”

Meli traces the shape of his lips with her fingers, stepping between his legs to kiss him softly. He obliges, following her lead, as she starts slow–a simple press of lips against each other, her eyes fluttering closed before a swipe of her tongue deepens the action and soon she feels like her soul may leave her and join his as they devour each others mouths. She’s breathing heavy as she pulls back, stopping to take a moment, pressing her forehead against his to catch her breath.

His fingers are tight at her hips, thumb stroking her bare skin and it would be so easy to let him continue, to let him take her and make her feel amazing like he always does–but this isn’t about her. This is supposed to be about him. So she pushes him back onto the bed, smiling at him as she crawls across his body, pushing her hair over her shoulder. Her fingers trace a scar on his right shoulder–burns, judging by the shiny newer skin. There are many of them there, clustered together in various sizes and depths and she leans forward to trace each one with her tongue.

Alexios’ inhale is a sharp draw of breath, one of his hands hovering mid air as if he is unsure of what to do. Finally he grips the  _stromata_  under him, shifting as she pays close attention to each mark and the feel of the skin under her tongue and lips. Pressing open mouthed kisses to each one, she traces his skin to another mark: a slice across his chest, a knife or sword she’s not sure, but it too is traced with her tongue and fingers.

“Meli,” Alexios sighs into her hair, his fingers coming to tangle in her hair. She can feel the quickening of his heartbeat under her lips as she pays tribute to scars that start at his chest and curve down to his ribs. She hums in answer to his quiet exhalation of her name, choosing instead to focus on scraping her teeth along the edge of new skin.

He groans, his legs twitching slightly as she laps her way across his abdomen to another set of scars. There’s so many it makes her heart ache but she’s desperate to kiss and lap at each one, to show him that no matter what the memories and scars may tell him, that he is safe here with her. She sits back on her heels to take his arm in her hands, thumbs stroking over the slashes across his wrists and forearms. He shivers under her gaze and the cool air that dries her wet kiss marks as she leaves more along this wrists.

(She’s never asked what made the marks, any of them. He tells her in small batches when he’s curled up behind her in bed, his chin resting on the top of her head. He’ll trace the lines on her back, the slash on her throat, almost absentmindedly before telling her another story, if he’s up to it. It’s horror, his whole young adult and childhood lives were horror and pain and all she can do is clutch his hands to her chest and tell him how important he is to her.)

Letting his arm go, she settles between his legs, sitting on folded legs and pressing forward to lap at the short slash across his hip bone, her fingers massaging into his thighs. She worries his flesh with her lips and teeth, sucking a bruise just beneath the scar that sends his hips bucking toward her.

Alexios tugs at her arms, whispering her name as he hauls her against him, settling her flush against his chest. He wraps his arms around her, dotting kisses at her forehead as he trembles under her. Meli untangles herself from him, propping herself up on his chest and stroking the hair out of his eyes.

He looks calmer now–the anger is gone, replaced by lust that has darkened his eyes, the nervous tic of chewing his lip has stopped, instead his lips are parted as he pants for air. He cards his hands through her hair so he can see her face and he curls forward to press his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers against her lips. “I–”

Meli shushes him with another quick kiss and a poke to his ribs. He huffs a soft laugh against her chin, then tilts her head in his hands to press feather-light kisses against the smattering of freckles across her skin. His thumb strokes along her jaw, then he slips his hand lower to slide fingers against the slash across her neck. She squirms out of his grip so she can sit up on his thighs and he groans at the sight of her: ruffled hair cascading down her back, her cheeks pink, lips swollen from his kisses, her body naked and ready for his touch.

His fingers ghost over her thighs and to her hips as she rolls them forward against the hardness under his  _perizoma_. Arching into her, Alexios groans at the contact, his fingers tightening against her, tugging her harder against him. She pulls at the fabric, tugging it down over his hips and ass so that his erection springs free from its confines.

Leaving him to kick the small clothes down his legs, Melina concentrates on wrapping her fingers around his length, moaning softly at the feel of him in her hand. He’s hardness wrapped in silk, impressive in both length and girth–and it makes sense, for how impressive he is altogether–her thumb and forefinger unable to touch as she strokes downward. She moves so she’s back on the mattress, between his thighs, so she can greedily suck him into her mouth.

Immediately his hand wraps into her hair, pulling it up out of her face so he can watch her, so he can tug on her hair if needed–an action that never fails to send a thrill down her spine, into the warmth that builds in her belly. She swirls her tongue along the head of him before letting him fall out of her mouth–his cock landing on his stomach with a soft, wet plop–before licking the underside of him, sucking along the vein that lies there, fingers rolling his balls in her hand.

Throwing an arm over his eyes, Alexios turns his head to mutter curses into his bicep, his other hand pulling her hair tight against her scalp, sending tiny bolts of lightning down her body. She blinks up at him, even though he can’t see her, just to take in the debauched look on his face. It sends a thrill through her–that she, someone who was once no one, a mere slave, can turn Alexios, a man once known as Deimos, a man once known as the terror of the Greek world, into a blubbering mess is a power she holds most dear.

She worries her tongue into the spot where his cockhead meets shaft, at the thread of muscle there and he cries out, his feet planting hard into the bed. She grins as she takes him back into her mouth, pressing down as far as she can, her eyes watering slightly as she chokes on the length and thickness of his cock–and he shouts at the sensation, tugging on her hair to pull her off of him.

He’s panting as he holds her face in his hands, his thumb swiping spit off her bottom lip. “Gods,” he whispers, ragged and heavy. “You look… _ruined_.”

The way he says it–with a shudder, his cock twitching under her belly, his eyes darkening even more with desire–leaves her needing more. Her thighs rub together and she whimpers as he presses a harsh kiss against her lips. “I need you,” she murmurs against his lips, her breath suddenly as ragged and panting as his. “Inside me.  _Now_.”

His jaw tightens as he ducks his head in a nod, his hands tugging her into place above him, and she slides her slick folds along his cock once, twice, before he lifts her hips to hold himself upright. Her fingers twist with his free hand, tangling together at her hip as she slides herself down his length. As she seats herself on him, as her body adjusts to his size, they both let out a groan of relief.

Meli takes a moment to let herself finish adjusting to him, her palm flat against his chest, eyes closed. He fills her in a way she never thought she’d understand–in more than just a physical way. She thought sex would be something she would always hate but Alexios has shown her the way it’s supposed to be. Together, they have started to heal, together they have begun to unlearn everything wrong ever done or taught to them.

He presses himself upright, wrapping an arm around her back and the other bracing himself on the bed. Kissing her, he rolls his hips up into her, the slow drag of his cock along her walls making her shake. Her fingers slide into his hair, holding on as she rotates her hips to meet his with each thrust, the position making her feel impossibly tight, full of him. Every press forward sends sparks to her clit, the feel of him against her so snug and perfect.

His eyes are unfocused, his thrusts growing sloppier and it fills her with a new sense of anticipation–she can’t wait for him to come, inside of her, because of her. It makes her redouble her efforts, rolling her hips faster and harder, knees sliding against the blanket. He ducks his head and scrapes his teeth against her tight nipples, the hand at her back coming to pinch one, holding on tightly as she bucks up into his mouth.

With a sob, she pulls his face away from her breast, trembling as his fingers continue to pluck and pinch, pressing forward to kiss Alexios, pant against his mouth as his hips jerk up into her. Her hands grip at his shoulders, sweat-slick and hot beneath her palms, and his forehead is slick too when he pushes against hers. Breathing becomes harder as the air between them becomes humid and thick, both thrusting against each other with abandon.

She’s so close,  _so close_ , and by his uneven movements and gasping in her ear, Alexios is too. His hand slips to her back, her thigh, her ass, like he can’t pick a place to hold onto, finally settling at the base of her throat, his fingers splayed wide along the column of her neck, thumb pressing between her lips. He’s staring at her, eyes wide and dark with lust, and he leans in, head against hers as he snaps up hard into her, his voice ragged and hoarse: “I love you.”

The thrust, the roll of his body against her swollen clit, or his words–she’s not sure which makes her come but she does so with her fingers tight on his shoulders, her teeth on his thumb, a sobbing wail escaping her as she shudders against him, tightens around him. Her body pulls him in, squeezing his cock, beckoning him to join her over the precipice.

A few more weak thrusts into her and he does, he comes with a shout, his head burying into her shoulder, hand falling from her throat. Her cunt spasms around him, greedily milking his cock for every drop of his seed. Exhaustion seeps into every centimeter of her body, leaving her limp against Alexios as he shudders and groans against her skin.

With his hand on her lower back, he falls backward into the bed, taking her with him. Melina shifts, letting his cock slip out of her with a hiss before curling into his side. Alexios throws his arm out, searching until he finds his discarded chiton, offering it to her to use in cleaning up.

Too exhausted to do anything but slip the cloth between her legs, she lays her head back down on his shoulder, fingers tracing the scars on his chest. His breathing is returning to normal and when she glances up at him, she’s happy to find him looking content and free. His fingers tangle with hers as he rolls her onto her back so that he can press soft kisses against her cheeks, her forehead, the scar on her neck, her collarbone.

Her other hand toys with the beads in his hair, tugging softly until he looks up at her, his chin resting on her sternum. “I love you, Alexios,” she whispers, surprised to find her voice just as hoarse as his. “So much. Are you feeling better?”

“If I say no,” he rumbles, turning his head to press a kiss against the soft swell of her breast. “Can I kiss every inch of you and we do this again?”

Melina grins, her delighted laughter ringing through the room. “Your sister will keep Sebastos as long as we need, my heart. So all you have to do is ask.”


	9. brasidas/kassandra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brasidas/kassandra - loud, smutty sex with multiple orgasms and the return of my inability to write an ending!

“Hush,” he mutters into her ear, leaning over her to press kisses into her shoulder. “You’ll wake the whole neighborhood.”

“A compliment,” she gasps out as her arms buckle under her, relishing the burn of his fingers tight on her hips and the stretch of him filling her from behind. “To all of Sparta–one of her sons, ahh–”

He laughs as she cuts herself off, the roll of his hips sending shockwaves of heat deep through her body, all of it culminating between her thighs and she cannot help the moan that fights its way out of her–no matter how loud it may be.

And perhaps, for all of his hushing, Brasidas is enjoying the loud noises he drags from her, because he certainly hasn’t stopped.

Looping his arm through hers, he tugs her against him, her back pressing to his chest, his other arm wrapping across her shoulders to hold her snug against him. Like this his thrusts are shallow, barely dragging from her before snapping forward again. He snakes a hand over her body–stopping at her breasts to pinch and pull at her stiff nipples–to slip over her clit, rubbing circles over the swollen bundle of nerves.

She grabs at his arm, her teeth sharp against his flesh as he pumps into her, fingers dancing faster around her clit as he whispers encouragements into her ear–wicked words that make her shudder and moan. He draws her closer to the edge, closer, closer, and when she comes, he slips out of her, replacing his cock with his fingers, pressing her forward onto the bed again.

His fingers curl and slide in and out of her, drawing her orgasm out of her with each flick of his wrist, her moans loud against her hand and when she comes back to herself, he is pulling her to lay on her side, lifting her leg to rest on his shoulder, before slipping inside of her again.

Her hand hits the mattress as a fist, the fullness in her cunt dragging another loud moan from her and she blinks back stars. “Gods,” she grits out, looking down to watch where his cock enters her, leaves her, enters her again. “You feel–”

Breaking off with a sharp inhale at his sharp snap of his hips, Kassandra flops back against the pillows, pressing her hand against the wall behind her as Brasidas fucks her with long, hard strokes. Her moans are near sobs, harsh encouragements and curses that make him blush–and she gives up trying to stay quiet for the neighbor’s sake. His hand claps over her lips after a particularly filthy cry, but he’s grinning, the tips of his ears red.

Prying his hand off her mouth, she rests it instead on her breast, urging his fingers to pull and pinch at her nipple, to draw that thin line between pleasure and pain. “Do not hush me,” she pauses in her admonishment to whimper as he pinches her particularly hard. “Your neighbors should delight in knowing what Brasidas of Sparta can master.”

Snapping his hips forward harder this time, his hand slips from her breasts to rest at her throat, thumb stroking the long column of skin. “They may delight,” he whispers hoarsely, his fingers tightening just a fraction. “But I’d rather keep you to myself.”

His possession would be unattractive in another man, in another moment with him even, but here, strung out on his bed, his hand keeping her pinned to the mattress, all it does is send another wave of desire through her body. She draws her leg, the one over his shoulder, down, pressing him tighter against her, changing the angle so that each sharp thrust hits the spot inside her that makes stars burst behind her eyes.

The noises that leave her now are completely involuntary–high and needy, moans and wails as his cock pounds into her, the sound of flesh slapping and his soft grunts the only other thing she can discern. His hand moves from her neck to her chin, his fingers pressing inside of her mouth and she takes them greedily between her teeth to lick and suck them obscenely.

He groans at the show she puts on, hips snapping into hers faster, his fingers leaving her mouth to drag down her sternum and to press them wetly against her breasts, tugging on the stiff peaks. His other hand leaves her leg to slide between his own lips, wetting them before circling her clit tightly. “Come for me again, Kassandra,” he commands, his voice gruff, a hoarse grunt that sends heat straight to her clit. “Come on–”

She’s surprised that she does come, on his command, on his fingers rubbing her clit, on his cock inside of her. It pulsates over her in waves, emanating from deep within her, spreading through her limbs. Clenching around him, her release is compounded with a loud wail of Brasidas’ name, her nails sharp on his biceps as she shudders around and under him.

He pulls himself from her once more and she whimpers at the drag of his cock over her sensitive folds. Leaning forward, he scrapes marks into her skin with his teeth, chasing the sting with his tongue, laving the rapidly blooming red marks. He catches her nipple between his teeth, sucking at it, her hands flying to the back of his head as he teases the stiff peak.

Then with a quick kiss to her lips, a soft whisper of love, he pulls away and flips her back onto her stomach and she is all too willing to comply. She is weakened with her orgasms, limbs heavy like they are filled with sand, her cunt sore and aching and she buries her face into the pillow as he nudges her onto her knees. With a quick press of his lips at the base of her spine, he guides his cock back into her.

The stretch and press against her overstimulated folds draws another whimper from her, Kassandra’s fingers tight on the blanket below her. Her legs tremble with every thrust from behind her, her cunt aching as it is filled again. Brasidas slips his fingers to her clit once more and she bucks away from his hand, but he chases her, holding her hips steady with his other hand.

Leaning forward, he whispers soft encouragements into her ear, against the nape of her neck. “If you’re so insistent, my love, on alerting the neighbors,” he murmurs, his teeth sharp at her shoulder. “Then when you come this final time, I want you to yell my name. Tell all of Sparta who you belong to.”

Groaning loudly, she nods her head, words eluding her. How has he not come already? How does he expect her to have anything left? But true to his actions, his words, her body reacts to his cock inside of her, his fingers rubbing tight circles against her clit. His thrusts are growing sloppier, his breathing harsh against her shoulder blades, his free hand’s fingers bruising her hips. He’s whispering again–her name, curses, love, telling her he’s so close–

With a grunt, he spills himself inside of her, his body heavily leaning into her back. As he shivers behind her, shaking and splashing his seed inside, his hand works furiously at her clit and when he sucks another bruise into her shoulder, she shatters again.

She’s sobbing as she comes, her fingers tight in the blanket, his name a shout that falls from her lips before she collapses against the bed. Her body wrings out one last shudder before she can just lay there, her breathing labored. Brasidas withdraws from her, making her shiver, flopping onto the bed beside her. He hesitates before settling his hand on her back, drawing her to blink at him hazily.

“Too much?” He whispers, drawing her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles.

Uncurling her fingers, she strokes his cheek and gives him a dazed smile. “No, just what I asked for. We should probably leave a gift basket for your neighbors though.”

“I thought they deserved to hear all that I can conquer,” he grins, pulling Kassandra into his arms and stroking her back.

“And they did. But they also deserve a basket of fruit for putting up with us.”


	10. brasidas/kassandra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brasidas/kassandra - public sex

“What are you doing–” Brasidas cuts off with a deep shiver as Kassandra presses him into an alcove off the throne room. Her smile is mischievous, her eyes dancing with delight as she slips her fingers under his  _chiton_. Tugging her lower lip between her teeth, she watches him with such heat in her eyes he cannot help but react.

His cock twitches in his small clothes even as he tries to push her hands from under his tunic, laughing softly. “Kassandra,” he breathes, shuddering when she kisses him hotly, trying to derail his train of thought. “My love, I have a meeting–”

“Then I guess we’d better hurry, hmm?” She slips her fingers beneath the edge of his  _perizoma_ , fingers grazing his hardening length. Curling close to him, her breath warm against his ear, she whispers: “I’m so wet for you, already. Thinking about you, taking me here…”

Gritting his teeth, he growls at her, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck to tug her to him, to press a bruising kiss against her lips. She gasps into his mouth and tugs his small clothes down, freeing his cock so she calm run her palm and fingertips over his length. He tugs her away from him, whirling her around so she can rest her hands against the wall.

Yanking at her  _peplos_ , he pulls the fabric up over her hips, groaning when he finds her bare before him. She tosses a wicked smile over her shoulder that vanishes into slack mouthed want when he slips his fingers between her folds. She is wet, soaking and it makes his brain short out–how long did she plan this? To be here between meetings, without anything below her dress? How long had she been thinking about him taking her like this, in a small, hidden corner of the palace, to make her so wet.

He longs for more time, so that he could drop to his knees and press his face between her legs and taste her, slip his tongue through her slick until she is riding his face, until she comes against his mouth. But the break between council gatherings is short enough and he’s wasting time as is.

Wrapping his fingers around his cock he lines it up with her entrance before reaching for her shoulders. The tip of him spreads her folds, drenching him in her wetness, and he growls as quietly as he can, “Keep quiet.”

At her nod, he snaps his hips and seats his cock inside of her fully. She shudders around him, the barest squeak of noise leaving her before she bites down on her arm to block the rest. She’s so hot and tight around him, the walls of her cunt holding him perfectly, already fluttering, already ready for him to fuck her. Gripping her hips, he sets a quick pace, letting the pleasure build up quickly inside of him.

She’s shaking under him and again he wonders how long she’s been wanting this–did she start herself at home, her fingers slipping between her legs, thinking of this moment, so that when she convinced him to fuck her here it wouldn’t take long? The mere thought of her laying on his bed, fingers plunging inside of herself, the others plucking and pinching one of her tight nipples is enough to make him groan softly as he leans forward over her.

Kassandra moves back to meet his thrusts, her cunt tightening with each movement, her arms shaking against the stone wall before her and he knows she won’t last long. Slipping his fingers around her front, he strokes her clit with quick and sure movements, playing her body like a  _kithara_ , the way he knows how. She moans, low, louder than she should and he’s quick to clamp a hand over her mouth.

That’s how she comes, with his fingers on her clit, fucking her from behind in the tiny alcove, with his hand clapped over her mouth to muffle her noises. Shuddering against him, her cunt squeezes him, making her impossibly tighter and his thrusts turn sloppy. His hand slips from her mouth to her shoulder, fingers tight as his hips stutter a few more deep thrusts into her before he comes.

Resting his head against her back, his hands hold onto her hips now, breathing deeply. The corner smells like sex now–anyone who walks over here will smell it and some part of him is thrilled by the concept. Tugging her skirts back into place, Brasidas kisses along her shoulder and neck before moving to pull his  _perizoma_ back over his hips. “You’re wicked,” he breathes, turning her around to kiss her properly. “Utterly wicked.”

She smiles against his lips, licking her way into his mouth for a moment that doesn’t last enough before pulling away and opens her mouth–

“Have you seen Brasidas?” King Archidamos’ voice wafts over them, dangerously close. “I need to speak to him before the next meeting!”

Messengers and servants murmur their acknowledgements, saying they will search the area for him and Brasidas inwardly groans. He’s going to meet with his king smelling like he just fucked. Which, he has, but he doesn’t want Archidamos to know that. “Go,” Brasidas whispers, pressing his lips against hers once more. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Kassandra smiles, slow and sensual and utterly wicked. “I’ll be waiting.”

She slips out of the alcove, from behind a banner that has luckily hidden them from view. With a deep breath, he makes sure his  _chiton_  is in place and steps out as well. She is nowhere to be seen and there are no messengers or servants near either. Breathing a little easier, Brasidas makes his way back toward his king.

Gods, he hopes this doesn’t last much longer.


	11. brasidas/alexios

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brasidas/misthios!alexios, deep throating, orgasm denial & begging

Alexios is not a man who goes down easily--in any sort of way. Fighting, arguing, drinking, sex, whatever you think you’re going to beat him at, you’re usually surprised when he comes out on top. He likes to be in control--needs to be in control--so he can finally have some sort of order in his life. If he doesn’t take care of things, no one is going to be there to help him, after all. 

And then he meets Brasidas, the Spartan who is so unlike any other Spartan Alexios has ever met. In Korinth, they take down the Monger side-by-side, grasp each other’s forearms afterward and promise to catch up the next time they meet. Alexios feels a heat between them--in the touch of their hands to arms, in the flicker of Brasidas’ eyes as he stares him down--but they part too swiftly to act upon it. He doesn’t expect to see Brasidas again, unless Alexios makes the unlikely trip to his birthplace. 

But the Fates have something else in store for him, he muses. For here he is, in Messenia, picking up mercenary contracts, when he sees the familiar glint of his armor, beard and braided hair. Brasidas has his arms folded across his chest, listening to a merchant talk to him about their wares, but his eyes are focused on the  _ misthios _ across the  _ agora _ , and, not for the first time, Alexios’ cheeks heat at his interest. 

They meet up later in the night, on the  _ Adrestia _ ’s decks, when the crew, Barnabas and Herodotos have left to seek actual beds at the inn, or nicer wine at the  _ taverna _ . Alexios uncorks a wineskin with his teeth, taking a healthy pull of the mixed wine before handing it to his friend. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.” 

Brasidas considers the skin in his hands before he nods and takes a drink. The tip is chipped, just a tiny bit, but enough for wine to dribble out onto Brasidas’ beard and Alexios cannot think of anything else but of how it would feel to lap it up for him. He tears his gaze away as Brasidas hands him the skin back. “Nor I, though I am glad to see a friendly face here. Messenia may be Spartan lands, but they are a bleak folk.”

“Understatement.” Alexios laughs, glancing over the rails of the ship toward the town below. All of Messenia may not be like this, but gods the people here are pessimistic and grumpy, something Alexios can’t wait to be away from. “Uh, thank you though, for coming to have a drink with me…” 

He drifts off as he grimaces into the wineskin. He sounds like an awkward boy, not the man he knows he is. What is it about Brasidas that has him shivering in his sandals? Where is the  _ misthios _ who seduces men and women all over Hellas? He wants that version of himself to come out.

Brasidas fixes him with a stare that makes Alexios freeze. His eyes are dark, lit only by the brazier between them and there’s a hunger in them he hopes he’s not dreaming up. “Alexios,” the older man starts, his voice a deep rumble in his chest that Alexios almost can feel. “Did you really invite me here just for a drink?”

His mouth opens, works a few times, then snaps closed when he stands to push his way between Brasidas’ legs on the bench opposite of him. The older man wraps his hand around the back of Alexios’ neck, drawing him down for a kiss, Alexios’ hands tight on his shoulders. 

The kiss is not gentle, nor did Alexios expect it to be. There is too much heat, too much fire in them both, no matter how much Brasidas tries to temper his, he is Spartan. His tongue is a brand against Alexios’ lips, burning as he pushes past them to explore the dark recess of his mouth. His hand is tight, tugging him down to him, to push Alexios into the space between his knees, opening them wide to accommodate his armor. 

Alexios slides his hands to Brasidas’ thighs, massaging the muscles there, drawing a soft groan from the other man, one that emanates from his chest and sends a shiver down Alexios’ spine. He wants more, he needs more contact, more  _ anything _ , and he pulls back to start tugging at the ties of his armor. 

Brasidas sits back, leaning against the wood to watch as Alexios fumbles with his armor, tugging it up over his head. He hesitates at his  _ pteruges _ , glancing up to Brasidas, who waves his hand lazily, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. Taking a deep breath and returning the smirk with one of his own, Alexios shoves the belt down over his hips and legs, kicking it to the side. “You’re not going to get a little more comfortable?”

“I am always comfortable in my armor,” Brasidas snarks back with a grin, relenting and taking his breastplate off and setting it aside on the bench. 

“What a Spartan thing to say,” Alexios laughs, shouldering his way back between Brasidas’ thighs to untie his belt and push his  _ chiton _ up over his hips once removed. Drawing his hand over his small clothes, Alexios groans at the feel of his cock under the fabric, already hardening for him. Brasidas reaches out and grabs Alexios by the chin, his thumb rubbing against his stubble. “How well do you listen, Alexios?” His voice is deeper than before, a dark rumble that makes Alexios’ mouth water. He wants him so bad it’s starting to hurt. “Will you promise to listen to me, tonight?”

Meeting Brasidas’ gaze, Alexios nods, swallowing hard. He can sense the balance of power shifting away from him--was it ever with him in the first place? He feels strangely adrift in the knowledge that he is not in control, even as he does what Brasidas commands. With his thumb slipping to Alexios’ lips, Brasidas pushes in, opening his mouth and urging him to stay that way as he stands up. 

Alexios watches, waiting on his knees with his mouth open wide, as Brasidas slips his small clothes down his legs, and wraps his hand around his cock, stroking it until it’s reached its full length. With a hand at the back of Alexios’ head, Brasidas guides his cock into his waiting mouth, snapping his hips forward to make the  _ misthios _ swallow him down. 

He gags at the intrusion, for however ready he thought himself, Brasidas is bigger in his mouth than he expected. Brasidas recedes, giving Alexios a moment to swallow, cough and rearrange himself on his knees. Alexios holds onto Brasidas’ thighs, glancing up to make sure that it’s okay and not against some unspoken rules but the older man just smiles again and lays his cock against Alexios’ tongue. 

He presses forward eagerly, tongue laving along the underside of Brasidas’ cock as he swallows him down, until his nose brushes against the coarse hair at his base. He’s making a mess, he can feel the spit running down his chin and his eyes begin to water, but he stays there, throat constricting around him. Brasidas groans lowly, his fingers fisting in Alexios hair and pulls back just enough for Alexios to catch his breath before he begins thrusting, fucking himself with Alexios’ mouth. 

He feels filthy but in an absolutely amazing way. His skin tingles, and, feeling lightheaded, he lazily blinks up at Brasidas, catching his eyes as he presses himself deep into Alexios’ mouth again. The older man groans louder at the sight, his hand coming to cup Alexios’ cheek. He pulls back, his cock slick with spit, taking his length in hand once more to rub against the spit running down Alexios’ chin. His throat hurts--it feels like it is made of sandcloth now, all raspy and rough--but he would not change the circumstances of that pain at all. 

His cock aches in his  _ perizoma _ , begging to be touched, but he waits, shivering with anticipation, his hands on his thighs as Brasidas tugs his tunic off before sitting back down. Patting the spot on the bench next to him, Brasidas beckons him back. “Undress first.” 

As quick as he can, Alexios yanks the  _ chiton _ up over his head, then shoves his smalls down his legs, finally freeing his aching cock. Brasidas inhales sharply at the sight of him, wrapping his hand around his own shaft to stroke once more. He holds up a hand before Alexios sits, never letting go of his cock. “Oil?”

Oil, of course. Quickly, Alexios turns to his trunk between the benches and throws it open. He knows some weapon grade oil is in there--it will have to do. He shoves a glowing sword (it glows?! He’ll need to look at that one again later) to the side and finds the vial, whooping triumphantly. Slamming the trunk shut, he bounds back over to Brasidas, his cock swaying with each movement and Brasidas’ eyes follow. 

Taking the oil from him, Brasidas shakes head with a fond smile and tugs Alexios into his lap. “You’re in such a hurry,” he says, wrapping his fingers around the  _ misthios’ _ cock. Alexios feels like the air in his lungs has evaporated, just from some deft fingers tugging on his prick. Brasidas moves slowly, his mouth trailing nips along Alexios’ neck and collarbone, his calloused hand eliciting all sorts of exciting sensations. “That’ll be our first lesson, then. Patience.”

Slipping his hand to Alexios’ thigh, Brasidas grins against his skin when he lets out a hiss of disappointment. Lessons? Patience? He isn’t a boy who has never fucked a man before--he knows what the word means and how to have patience, he just doesn’t particularly like it. But he’s promised, and he will listen. 

Brasidas presses his fingers against Alexios’ lips again, groaning when he opens for him. At his command, Alexios listens and sucks on the digits, coating them liberally with his saliva. Shifting under him, Brasidas moves Alexios in his lap until his legs are thrown on either side of Brasidas’, with the older man’s knees pushing his legs wider. Behind him, Brasidas slips his hand between them, sliding his fingers up the seam of his ass, pressing lightly against his entrance. 

Scooting forward a little, Alexios makes it easier for him, his hands holding onto the bench as Brasidas presses one finger inside of him, to the second knuckle, and then the other. Feeling like his heart may give out, Alexios bites back the groan that threatens to explode out of him, instead squeezing his eyes shut at the sensation. His hand wraps around his cock only for Brasidas to snap out a quick, “No. Hand down-” he slips his fingers inside of Alexios further “-you don’t touch yourself until I tell you.” 

Alexios shudders at the command, but he listens quickly, pressing his palms against his thighs instead, shutting his eyes once more to take the focus off of his aching, weeping cock. Brasidas grabs the oil vial, uncorking it with his teeth and making quick work behind Alexios’ back. Soon, he feels the hot tip of Brasidas’ cock pressing into him and he digs his blunt nails into his own thighs as he stretches around his girth, biting down hard on his lip to keep from crying out. 

“Let me hear you,” Brasidas grunts, his lips brushing against Alexios’ shoulder. His hands are soothing at his sides, stroking him through the pressure and initial pain of being speared on his cock. “It’s all right, let me just--”

Brasidas breaks off with a groan as he is fully seated inside of Alexios, who releases his death’s grip on his lip and cries out, his fingers tight on his thighs. They sit there for a moment, letting Alexios catch his breath and grow accustomed to Brasidas’ length inside of him. His own cock throbs with need, reddened and leaking, begging to be touched, but Alexios grits his teeth and keeps his hands where they are.

With hands on his shoulders, Brasidas curls Alexios forward, pushing them to the deck in front of them. Alexios braces himself on the floor with his hands and knees, shuddering as Brasidas leans over his back, nipping at his shoulder and neck. A deep, constant whine leaves Alexios’ throat, his fingers scratching at the wood as Brasidas pulls back slightly before snapping his hips forward again.

Alexios sees stars--they explode behind his eyelids and send bolts of lightning down his spine. They fuel the fire deep in his belly, dragging inhuman noises from him as Brasidas continues to thrust into him. His fingers tight on Alexios’ hips, he leans forward to growl another order at the  _ misthios _ : “You can’t come. Not until I tell you. Not until you  _ beg _ me.” 

He feels dizzy at the words--the deep, guttural way Brasidas says them, the pass of his lips against his skin. He’s going to die, this going to kill him, he’s sure of it, but gods; what a way to go. Brasidas pushes his way in and out of Alexios, a current stronger than any he’s seen at sea. He digs his fingers into the wood grain below him, desperately hanging on. Nothing else matters in the world at this moment--not the war, not the cult, not his family--just the way he feels like one giant knot of need and desperation. 

Thrusts growing unsteady, Brasidas’ fingers falter at Alexios’ hips, nudging him down so his head leans against his arms. He wraps a hand around his swollen, painfully hard cock and Alexios feels like he might pass out or scream from the contact. He’s certain he can’t listen to Brasidas’ orders, not if he’s going to stroke him like that. 

The Spartan’s thumb passes over the head of Alexios’ cock and he shudders under the ministrations. He feels almost sick with the tension in his body and when Brasidas asks him if there’s something he needs, he sobs out the  _ please _ brokenly, his eyes pricking with tears of need. “Please,” he whispers again, his voice ragged and hoarse--a combination of desire and the weight of Brasidas’ cock down his throat earlier. “Please, gods, please let me come--”

Hand tightening around his shaft, Brasidas punctuates his next words with a sharp thrust that leaves Alexios gasping for air. “Come for me,  _ misthios _ .”

With a quick twist of his wrist, he wrings Alexios’ orgasm out of him, the  _ misthios’ _ body shaking and curling in on itself as he comes so hard. Sobbing out a cry, Alexios’ arms shake as he pushes himself back up, knees aching, lungs gasping in air. Brasidas continues to thrust unsteadily into his body--a few thrusts more and Brasidas comes with a cry against Alexios’ shoulder, his hand falling from his cock.

Together they collapse onto the deck below, Brasidas rolling at the last second to take the brunt of his weight off the younger man. Alexios blinks hazily as he rests his head on his arm, unable to speak let alone thing. After a long moment, Brasidas strokes his hair, shoulder and back before letting his hand rest on Alexios’ ass. With obvious effort, Alexios turns to look at him, his eyebrows raising in a question, not trying to speak just yet.

Brasidas laughs softly and nods, rolling onto his back and tugging Alexios with him. Resting his head on the older man’s shoulder and throwing his arm around his waist, he blinks up at the stars and clears his throat. “Gods. Uh, wow.”

The Spartan’s laughter rings out into the night before he presses a kiss against Alexios’ hair. “Wow is a good word for it,  _ misthios _ . Wow.”


End file.
